


Vicarious

by orbiting_saturn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 02:11:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbiting_saturn/pseuds/orbiting_saturn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This thing they're doing, that they're about to do, is a shade of murky gray, when the end is near and each transgression can mean the difference between an eternity in Hell and life-everlasting in Heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vicarious

In the end, it all comes back to Dean, what they will do for him. And that is just about anything. They're both fully aware of the flaws and foibles that are the emotional make up of this man, every little hairpin curve of his bruised psyche and each brimstone burn on his soul. They know him like they know themselves, just as much as they don't know each other. They know very little about each other, have not taken the time to know because quite honestly, their worlds revolve around one thing, one person and there's not much room for anything else.

When this is all over, they will know more about each other than they will care to. It will bring them closer, even as it colors their every exchange with jealousy and distrust.

This thing they're doing, that they're about to do, is a shade of murky gray, when the end is near and each transgression can mean the difference between an eternity in Hell and life-everlasting in Heaven. These are places none of them wish to go, so this nearly-there sin may offer them the solace of a Purgatory they can share together.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

In the few hours they had remaining, before they set out to dash their final, feeble hope against the will of the devil, the three of them shared too many beers in the wrecking yard. Sam lounged negligently on the hood of the Impala, trying desperately to look like he was at peace with his decision. Castiel perched beside him on the lip, a loose grip on the neck of his bottle and shuttered eyes that followed Dean even when they didn't.

Dean could not be still. He'd lean against the car, walk away, kick a loose rock and then pace some more. And as he ambled and they watched him, he poured gulps of whiskey down his throat. In between shots, he'd inhale beers like water before tossing each bottle in a fine arc that settled in a tickling crash somewhere far off.

The drunker they got, the clearer it was that Dean was completely unraveling. It was that pivotal moment they'd all been waiting for and it was finally there, that moment when all the shit would come crashing down around Dean's ears and he would come so entirely undone. When it finally happened, it was strangely anti-climactic.

They were prepared for shouting, for crying, for the thrashing of inanimate (and possibly animate) objects, but what they got was far more subdued. And in another way, more earth shatteringly surreal than they could have ever imagined.

No one had spoken for more than an hour and Dean hadn't stopped moving for longer still. So when his boots halted suddenly against the packed dirt beneath them, kicking up a cloud of dust, their alcohol muddled attention focused sluggishly, but intently. They both caught their breath, waiting for an explosion that never came.

The beer bottle in Dean's hand fell from a slack grip, the glass making a hollow clanking sound before the remaining contents glugged out into the dirt. A river of foamy mud coursed into the thick sole of Dean's boot. He looked towards them both with glassy, distant eyes that didn't see. His hands hung loose and useless at his sides and he caught his lush lower lip between his teeth, chewed it contemplatively while he struggled internally with thoughts that neither of them could guess at.

Both could see the moment when Dean's decision was made, those green eyes focused and narrowed and he came at them on a swaying, drunken gait.

Castiel was hauled off of the hood by the lapels of his coat. He never made a sound of surprise or complaint, not even when Dean's lips collided against his own. He simply stood, pliant and wobbly, and opened his mouth to the attack.

Sam was not as impassive, had never quite mastered the fine art of taming his body to mask his emotions. He jolted up, away from the windshield and stared wide-eyed and flabbergasted as his supposedly straight brother mouth-raped a guy right in front of him. Sam's stare was met with Dean's, glimmering slits peeking out at him around Castiel's messy hair. Dean kissed Castiel deep and thorough, but he never took his eyes away from Sam as he did it.

His eyes told a story, one that Sam could map back to the cradle; of a bond that ran too deep, a need that bordered on insanity, a fraternal relationship that was too intimate but never quite as intimate as they both wanted. Sam could feel it close up his throat as Dean shoved his fingers into the back of Castiel's hair, gripped it tight and pulled his head just a little to the side. Sam's eyes flickered down just long enough to see his brother's tongue slide in before they locked gazes again.

When Sam licked his lips, Dean's eyes finally drifted shut. He moaned low and ragged before thrusting his hips against Castiel's.

Sam couldn't understand how Castiel remained poised and quiet under the onslaught. He just stood there, ass pinned to the car, hands splayed on the shiny paintwork. He made not a sound, but he spread his thighs when Dean pressed one of his own between them, tilted his head where Dean wanted it and opened his mouth to each slide and flick of tongue.

He didn't know that every nerve ending in Castiel's body was humming with sensation, that every push and thrust and kiss made him so dizzy that he had to close his eyes or collapse under the newness of it. For the first time ever, he had an erection that couldn’t be willed away with a thought and push of his grace. It coiled up; a strange, low press in his belly.

Castiel stayed in his head because that was what he was supposed to do.

This, whatever this was, was not for him. It was for them. He was caught in the middle of a Winchester typhoon, as he'd always ever been. He'd learned how to weather these storms and being human wouldn't change that. Dean would use him for what he was good for and Castiel liked feeling useful.

So, he gave Dean what he wanted, and that was his silence and his body. If Dean knew how much of his mind Castiel had seen before his fall, before Dean was even aware that mind reading was an ability he possessed, Castiel would have been abandoned. No man could live without shame for the thoughts Dean had and no man could live with a witness to that shame.

Castiel tasted Dean's loneliness on his tongue, smelled his guilt in his sweat, and could map the rage and aggression in each swirl of every fingerprint against his skin. And he heard the desperate longing in every panting breath that puffed warmly across his lips. It was not meant for him, Dean's feelings for him were a more confused fondness, begrudging obligation and a furious resentment for dragging him out of the hell he felt he deserved. Castiel felt blessed to receive this vicarious passion, because he would have never had it otherwise.

Without meaning to, Sam had scooted forward until his feet touched the ground. Some of his weight still leaned against the car but he was suddenly so near the embracing men that the elbow of his jacket brushed against Castiel's arm.

"It's getting cold out," Sam broke the silence, his voice sounding low and gritty, hushed in a way that resembled reverence. "We should go inside."

At his words, Dean pulled out of the kiss and pressed his forehead against Castiel's, but slid his eyes over to look at Sam. It had been cold out for hours and none of them had minded. None of them seemed affected by that cold even now, all of them flushed high in the cheeks and low on the neck.

Castiel could no longer read minds, but something in the way the brothers looked at each other spoke volumes, spoke of things unsaid for far too long. They had a silent conversation with their dilated eyes, eyes too near the same color.

Dean laced his fingers through Castiel's, lead him by the hand out of the salvage yard and into the house. They passed quietly by Bobby who still slept on the creaky cot in his office out of habit and went up the stairs that groaned and squeaked under each foot step.

Sam followed silently behind them, down the narrow hall to Bobby's old bedroom, the one he'd had to abandon when he lost his legs. Dean and Sam had been sharing the double bed in there ever since, pressed too close every night, limbs brushing and tangling, not every touch unintentional.

When the door clicked closed behind Sam, Dean spun around, pushing and crowding Castiel against the solid wall of Sam's large body. As Dean took Castiel's plush mouth again, tongue working its way in, Sam felt the angel melt languidly into him. Soft tickling hairs brushed his cheek and neck as Castiel's head was tipped back against his shoulder. Pressed this close up, he knew then that the other man was not as unaffected as he seemed before, his compact body was practically vibrating.

A ragged breath caught in Sam's throat, he swallowed it back and sucked on his lips. He had no idea where to put his hands, if he could push his hips into the small of Castiel's back, how much involvement he was allowed. Dean glanced up at him, saw his indecision and ground Castiel into him, like an offering. He sucked a gasp through his teeth at the press of flesh against his hardness.

Castiel's breath sighed against Sam's jaw, his head still tilted back against a broad shoulder as Dean pulled his tie loose. A pale column of throat bared, buttons slowly worked open, revealing more and more skin that sneaking fingers skated against. Three layers of shirt, blazer and coat peeled off in one heavy tangle to fall against Sam's boots.

While Dean leaned in for another kiss, moist sucking sounds in Sam's ear and an indistinct blur in his peripheral vision, Sam finally decided that it must be okay for him to use his hands. He fit them tentatively around the curves of Castiel's sharp hips and waited for an objection. When none came, he slid them further around, the backs of his fingers scraping the denim of Dean's jeans, harsh and warm against the scabs on his knuckles.

Thumb pads skimming the line of leather, Sam found the buckle of Castiel's belt and worked it open.

"That's it, Sammy," Dean muttered, voice gutter low as he trailed a line of moisture over Castiel's jaw. "Get him naked for us."

A moan forced its way out of Castiel's throat and he moved against Sam, for the first time without any encouragement from Dean. Like his body couldn't help itself, like it was past bowing to the angel's iron will.

Sam flicked open the tab and struggled for a minute with the button on Castiel's slacks before it popped open. The zipper glided down easily and Sam spread his hand flat, dipped it into the gap until he could feel the solid curve of Castiel's hard cock. It was a brief touch and a short whimper near his ear before he pulled back and hooked his fingers into the waistband of pants and boxers and pushed down.

Castiel was a spread of naked flesh and wiry muscle between them then, sweat beaded skin catching against coarse and soft cloth.

Sam's hair fell across his eye and it fluttered as Dean turned, his breathing shallow and ragged. He lowered himself to his knees and both Sam and Castiel tilted their heads down to watch him pull off Castiel's shoes and socks one at time. Sam wrapped a strong arm around the plain of Castiel's stomach to support his wavering, swaying body while he was stripped completely.

Dean looked up at them then; pupils so blown that only a slim ring of mossy green remained around the edges. The long jut of Castiel's cock hovered only inches from his kiss-bruised lips. It was an artful and pornographic pose that sent a stab of pure want into Sam's gut. He couldn't keep in the groan of his brother's name.

Dean opened his mouth on a question as he caught Sam's lust-addled gaze. The words died in his mouth and instead of speaking he leaned in and licked a stripe along the hot length of Castiel's cock.

The angel's head fell back against Sam's shoulder again, a keening sound dragged out of him. Sam couldn't tear his eyes away for anything in the world, but then it wasn't _his_ cock being sucked into that hot, wet mouth. It was his face that Dean watched as he moved down, curled a fist around the base and pumped. Sam's grip on Castiel tightened, indenting the flesh of belly and hip under his calloused fingertips, grinding himself into the slim curve of bare back and ass.

There was an obscene popping noise as Dean pulled off, pushed smoothly back up to his feet and shucked his jacket. The tight t-shirt beneath it was pulled up and off and Sam stared, mouth slack and dry from labored breathing. The harsh security light filtered through the window, casting shadows like bruises along the lines of Dean's muscled chest.

Somewhere through the haze, he realized that Castiel was gripping his thighs, swallowing down gasps. These were periphery sensations; barely-there flashes of insight while Dean pulled open the button fly of his jeans. He slid a teasing hand down his abs, past the gaping edges of his open pants to grip and adjust himself. It was a show, probably preformed for hundreds of people before him, but this time it was all for Sam.

The rest of the strip tease was done with more urgency; Dean seating himself on the foot of the bed to yank off his boots and socks, shimmying out his jeans and underwear until his stood, finally, naked in front of them.

"Give him to me," he told Sam.

It took Sam a moment to realize what Dean was talking about until Castiel shifted in his arms. He swallowed stupidly, felt somewhat reluctant to sacrifice his shield, but complied after a short inner debate. Pushing away from the door, Sam guided the languorous angel into Dean's waiting arms.

Blunt-nailed hands trailed down a smooth, naked back, thumbs bumping over the too-defined vertebrae. Castiel melted into Dean, pressed his face into the curve of neck and shivered when he was stroked delicately, like a well-favored pet. Dean bestowed a fond, mostly chaste kiss to the knob of bone jutting from his slumped shoulder.

Dean's hands continued to smooth soothingly over all that goose-pimpled skin, but he looked back at Sam, quirked an eyebrow and waited.

Sam chewed his lip nervously, but took the hint and pulled off his too-thick coat. He was not as comfortable with being watched while he dragged off layer after layer, but he beat back the nerves, stamped out the guilty thoughts, reconciled himself with white-lies that this wasn't such a bad thing. He and Dean hadn't even touched, what harm could there be in looking? How could this jeopardize his redemption if he was successful tomorrow?

He was naked before he knew it, cool air and a hard gaze drifting lazily over his skin, touching every bared part of him. Those eyes stared into him then flicked pointedly towards the bed. A short tremor skimmed up his spine before he moved, laid himself on top of the scratchy army-surplus blanket, propped against the pillows.

Sam got one more look and then Dean pulled Castiel's head back by the hair, kissed him slow and thorough. One hand gripped Castiel's pert little ass and pulled him close enough for their cocks to slide together. Gentle hands got rough, more managing, as Castiel was urged onto the bed. Kneeling between Castiel's thighs, Dean manhandled him up the bed until Sam was forced to spread his legs to make room for him.

Castiel was pushed on top of Sam and a hiss of pain-pleasure was punched out of him when his dick came up against skin-to-skin contact. He saw a flash of sharp, white teeth as they were dragged over Castiel's raw lower lip. Sam grunted and thrust up, sweat-sliding friction catching his leaking cock. His large hands closed around biceps so narrow he nearly encircled them entirely.

"That's it, Sammy," Dean growled, voice lust-heavy and cracking. "Hold onto him."

Dean leaned over the side of the bed, rooted around in his bag until he came up with a tube of lotion. Knowing what was coming, Sam's hips stuttered up again. His lids drooped in pleasure when Castiel's back muscles rippled against him.

On his knees, Dean squirted a generous amount of lotion onto two fingers and spread Castiel's legs impossibly wide until they were pressing against Sam's inner thigh. Without care or finesse, Dean reached down and slid both fingers straight in. A strangled cry came out of Castiel at the intrusion and he arched his back against the pain.

"Jesus, Dean!" Sam whisper-shouted, torn between horror and excitement at the sudden rough treatment.

"He can take it," Dean mumbled, working his fingers deeper, pumping them a little, the tension tightening each muscle lining his arm. "Can't you, Cas?"

Castiel didn't answer; just bit his lip and slowly, slowly relaxed against Sam. He skimmed his fingers gently against the outside of Sam's thigh and he didn't know if it was meant to be a 'thank you' or a reassurance.

When Dean pulled his fingers out, Sam didn't know if it was because Castiel was sufficiently stretched or because Dean didn't want to wait any longer. Dean squeezed another stream of lotion into his palm, slicked his hard, leaking length up and leaned down to press the head against Castiel's opening.

For the first time, Dean's skin brushed against Sam's, the backs of hands skimming Sam's thighs and sending a jolt of feeling straight to his cock. Dean pushed Cas' legs up and pressed in.

Sam had a perfect view of Dean sliding slowly in. Castiel was panting, humming as he was laid open and filled up. Sam's own ass clenched sympathetically and jealously.

Dean paused when he was in to the hilt, probably not to let Castiel adjust, but to savor the tight clench around his cock. When he finally pulled back and slammed home again, it shook them all. Castiel slid against Sam, putting more pressure on his aching dick.

The rhythm Dean set rattled the rickety bed frame. Castiel gave a soft sigh, relaxed more than should have been possible, kept himself tilted just right for Dean's harsh strokes and Sam's firm thrusts. He raised his arms over his head, curved his hands around the base of Sam's neck and laced his fingers together. It stretched the muscles across his torso and pressed his own cock into Dean's stomach.

Sam spread his thighs even further, watched Dean work his hips in long, harsh slides. Dean's lids drifted opened and closed, gaze skirting over Sam's face and exposed upper chest. He pushed one of Castiel's legs over Sam's raised knee and smoothed one hand over Castiel's chest, curving it around his shoulder until the nails bit into Sam's skin.

Dean pulled with that hand and he pushed with every other part of him, dragging and jostling Castiel onto Sam. "Fuck, Sammy," he gasped low, hips stuttering as he got closer. "So good."

When Castiel came with a quiet whimper, it surprised Sam and maddened Dean, stirring him into a frenzied push and pull, sliding the languid body between them against Sam and building a hot pressure, low and steady until he gripped Castiel and came in long, hot spurts across his back.

Dean jerked and followed, a growling moan and Sam's name dragging from his throat as he spilled himself.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The bed is too small for the three of them, piled in a heap of sweat and come-soaked skin and muscle. Dean is sleeping peacefully for the first time in what seems like ages. They lie beside him, each watching his chest rise and fall, each matching their breath to his in hopes of an oblivion of their own.

This thing they've done is a haunting question in their minds, over-shadowed too completely by the impending showdown. Neither can bring themselves to regret what's happened, but it doesn't stop them wondering where they'll be tomorrow, at the end of the day.


End file.
